“You and Havana look good together, Tate. You two have had a thing going for just over four months now, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s a long time for you. Is it heading into semi-serious territory?”
“No.”
“Maybe you should consider making it a little serious and seeing if it goes anywhere. You’re thirty-two years old; you ain’t getting any younger.”
“Not interested in a real relationship, Luke. You know that. So does Havana. We’re just having a bit of fun, and that’s all we’re gonna have.”
She swallowed hard at the memory. Really, she should have guessed it was coming. A Dead End road sign had fallen over practically in front of her this morning.
Her first thought was, “Well, fuck.”
Her second thought was, “Is that what Tate and I have, a dead-end relationship?” And she’d concluded that, as much as she wished differently, they in fact did. The universe had kindly given her a reminder that this was going nowhere.
Yeah, she believed in signs. She heeded them. They’d never led her wrong.
Her inner animal wasn’t so happy that Havana intended to make a graceful exit from the fling. The devil was fussy and relatively antisocial, but she liked Tate; liked that he was so self-possessed and unapologetically masculine. She was in something of a funk right now.
Havana felt like indulging in a good sulk, too, but she had no right. She’d known from the very beginning that she and Tate weren’t building anything.
She’d also known, courtesy of his pride mates, that a woman he once tried imprinting on had completely fucked him over. That had been three years ago. He’d kept his relationships short and casual ever since—his usual cut-off date was two months. But he’d let his fling with Havana continue for longer, and she’d stupidly read a little too much into that. She shouldn’t have, considering he’d been very clear that there’d be no happy ending. There was no sense in whining about it now—not even in her head.
As she skirted the corner of the street and turned into the cul-de-sac, her stomach rolled. Which she totally ignored, because this had to be done. Approaching his house, she noticed two of his enforcers lingering near the building on guard. She said a quick hello to each of them as she walked up Tate’s front yard and onto his porch.
Pulling up her mental bootstraps, she jabbed the doorbell. It seemed like forever before the door swung open. Her pulse spiked as rich inky blue eyes landed on her—it was easy to see the killer instinct there. It was also easy to melt right into a puddle of hot to trot goo. What else was a girl to do when presented with so much male deliciousness?
Tall and powerfully built, Tate Devereaux was the definition of rugged with the merciless slash to his full mouth, the harshly masculine lines of his face, and the fine layer of stubble that dusted his square jaw. His short hair was dark as pitch and sleek as a cat’s fur. Intricate tattoos were inked on his arms, chest, and back, accentuating the muscles there. And there was a lot of honed, roped muscle to be seen on that body.
Even without the subtle yet potent alpha vibes that spilled from him, there would be no missing that Tate was a leader down to the bone. He projected an innate authority and supreme self-assurance that commanded attention. There’d be no steamrolling this guy. Tate was a man who decided his own path. He didn’t follow the rules; he made his own, all the while exuding a calm surety that he’d get what he wanted one way or another.
Basically, he made all her sexual bells ring-a-ding-ding. Loud. With feeling.
One corner of his mouth kicked up slightly. “Hey,” he greeted simply.
Damn, that voice. It was deep. Low. Gravelly. Uber-sexy. It also dripped with the power that was a basic part of his character.
“You didn’t call to say you were coming,” he said, but it wasn’t an admonishment.
Havana hadn’t called because he would no doubt have assumed she was interested in hooking up tonight. She hadn’t wanted to mislead him.
She walked in as he stepped aside to let her pass. The door had no sooner closed behind her than Tate pulled her flush against him, making her stomach flip. Her nerve endings sprung to life and her blood went hot. Her body clearly wasn’t on board with her “it’s time to walk away” plan.
He buried his face in her neck. “Your scent makes my mouth water.”
His own scent had a similar effect on her. Right then, it rose between them. Dark chocolate mint, rich coffee beans, and warm worn leather. It never failed to stir up her hormones—they were so easy for him, the traitors.
Sliding his hand up her outer thigh, he scraped his teeth over her pulse. “I’m glad you came.”
Doing her best to ignore the way her body lit up for him, she splayed her fingers on the center of his chest and said, “We need to talk.” They also needed to stop this now before she gave into the temptation to indulge in a bout of goodbye sex.
He lashed her earlobe with his tongue. “We do?” It was a careless question.
“It’s important, Tate.” She pushed hard against his chest. “Really, we have to talk,” she said firmly.
He very slowly backed up, his gaze flitting over her face. “About what?”
She opened her mouth, but no words came out. God, it should be simple to end something that hadn’t really begun. Especially when it had never been fated to last long.
Part of her was tempted to make some bullshit excuse for why she’d turned up and just give him more time, but that would be dumb. She needed to walk away now. It was the right thing to do. They were wasting each other’s time by dragging out something that had no future.
Ignoring the knots in her gut, Havana lifted her chin. She’d make this quick, painless, and civil. “I wanted to do this face-to-face. I’m pretty sure you’ll agree with me on this. Still, it’s awkward for me to be the one to say it out loud, but one of us needs to. I had fun and everything, Tate, but I think it’s time we each went our own way.”
Seconds ticked by as he simply stared at her. Then his brows snapped together, and a low growl rumbled out of him. “The fuck? What brought this on, Havana? Last night, you were moaning beneath me, asking me to take you harder. Before you left, we made plans to get together next weekend. Now you’re telling me we need to go our own way?”
She double-blinked, sincerely surprised that he gave a rat’s ass. “Yes, it’s time we did. Take care of yourself, okay?”
She turned, intending to leave. His arm shot out, slamming his palm on the wall beside her head, acting as a barrier. She didn’t turn back to face him. She just stared at his arm, grinding her teeth as anger-filled alpha vibes radiated from him—they whipped at her skin and settled heavy on her bones.
He took a prowling step closer, swallowing up the small distance between them, and put his mouth to her ear. “I’ve been inside that pussy more times than I can count. Now you’re telling me I no longer have any rights to it. You can at least explain why.”
“Look—”
“You met someone else? Is that what this is?”
Frowning, she twisted to face him, forcing him to edge back and lower his arm. “What? No.”
“So what am I missing? What happened between last night and right now that made you want to walk away?” He squinted. “Did someone say something to you? Has one of my pride mates got their panties in a twist because their Alpha’s involved with a loner?”